


one time, see you laughing

by bitterbeets (ginnydear)



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Hate to Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, Soulmates, White House Era (Crooked Media RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:58:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23871226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginnydear/pseuds/bitterbeets
Summary: “Maybe they’re a Republican,” Jon had joked one night as Tommy laid on a bed in their hotel room, a bag of ice on his chest.“That’s not even funny,” Tommy groaned, covering his face.
Relationships: Jon Lovett/Tommy Vietor
Comments: 24
Kudos: 59
Collections: Crooked Exchange 2020





	one time, see you laughing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hopefor46](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopefor46/gifts).

> hi hopefor46! i really didn't know what to do or where to go with this, so i picked a concept i'd wanted to do for awhile and put this together for you!

It starts in the morning when he arrives for the day. It’s a small twinge in his chest, a ghost of the random bits of pain he felt on the campaign trail. As soon as he sits down at his desk, he rifles through his desk draw for an ant-acid. 

“Drank too much last night, huh?” Cody says as he walks past, stopping to watch Tommy shake a few pills out of the bottle. Tommy winces as he throws them into his mouth and starts chewing. 

“I didn’t drink last night,” Tommy says through the paste taste. He puts a hand to his chest and holds it there, the burning waning for a moment. Cody frowns and shrugs, placing a folder on Tommy’s desk. 

“These are for Gibbs,” he says before he’s off again, leaving Tommy sitting at his desk. 

As Tommy continues to chew, his nose scrunching up at the awful flavor, the feeling in his chest starts to subside. He chugs half his water bottle when he’s done, grabs the folder on his desk, and starts with his day. 

The day is busy enough to keep his mind off the slight itch to his chest, the way he keeps reaching up to scratch that one spot. Even when an intern stares at him in curiosity during a meeting as Tommy’s fingers slip between his shirts buttons to press at his undershirt in annoyance, he’s not paying enough attention and glares at the intern until he looks away. It’s not until lunch that he finally heads into a bathroom and unbuttons his shirt enough to stare at the pink skin on his chest. 

The words had once been an angry red, more like a scar than any of the marks he’s seen in his life. It never peeled or bled, but the words pulsed and burned in a way Tommy could never explain. When he’d seen his doctor about it, she’d looked at him baffled. None of the creams she’d given him worked. 

Now, the words stand black against his pale skin. There’s some marks from his fingers, red lines of irritation, but the letters stay black. They had started to fade back to black after the convention, turning fully black by September. After eight months of low grade pain, it was a welcome relief. 

Jon is having lunch with the speechwriting team, taking them out so they can all meet the new guy he’s hired, so Tommy can’t go talk his ear off about this itchiness. Jon is one of two people (aside from his doctor) that Tommy’s told about the words on his chest. It was quite the feat to go all summer without taking off his shirt. 

The itchiness only gets worse after lunch as Tommy runs around the hallways of the White House, making copies and being a go-between for Gibbs. He lucks out of being in a meeting that’s going to last most of the afternoon by not being at his desk, so as soon as he’s done with his busy work, he sneaks out of his office and heads for Jon’s. 

Cody’s the only one in the office when Tommy walks in, so he heads over and sits on the edge of Cody’s desk, pushing a bunch of paperwork around just to be a terror. Cody swats at him, grabbing the papers before they wrinkle or hit the floor. 

“What do you want? Are you feeling better?” Cody asks, organizing his desk around where Tommy’s sitting. 

“Oh, uh,” Tommy frowns, touching his chest again. Cody tilts his head as he watches. “Kind of. Where’s Favreau? I gotta talk to him.”

“He’s showing the new guy around.”

“Oh, right. What’s he like?”

Cody smiles a bit, sitting back in his chair. “Funny. Quick. He had us in stitches over lunch. He told us some of the speeches he worked on for Clinton, and they were the  _ good _ ones. I’m sure he’ll have some input for the correspondence dinner, you know?”

Tommy nods, mouth open to reply when the door behind him opens. Before he can turn his head, his chest starts to burn again and he bites his bottom lip to keep from swearing. 

“Tommy! There you are! I was scared you were in that meeting with Gibbs,” Favs says as he walks into the room. “I wanna introduce you to someone.”

Turning his head, Tommy only gets a glimpse of the new guy before he’s backed out the door and disappeared. Cody stands at that, while Jon looks confusedly between where the guy was just standing, and Tommy. 

“Wait, Lovett,” Favs says, holding up a hand and heading back out the door. 

“What the fuck was that?” Cody asks lowly, walking around to stand in front of Tommy. He stares at Tommy’s face for a moment, head tilted again. 

“I - I need to talk to Favs,” Tommy mumbles, pushing himself off the desk and heading for the door. “I’ll see you for drinks later, man.”

\--- 

The words had appeared on his chest sometime in Iowa. 

Tommy had woken up one morning and stumbled into his tiny bathroom only to stare at himself in shock as he processed the words etched across his chest. He couldn't even remember most of the day prior, so he had grumpily brushed his teeth and gone along with his day. 

It wasn’t until after Iowa, when he started following the campaign across the country instead of holing up in corn country, that things started getting dicey. He didn’t even tell Jon until the first debate, and only because the pain in his chest had been so great that he’d almost fainted. Standing backstage, hiding in the curtains, Tommy had explained to Jon through gritted teeth. From then on, the pain had been near constant, ranging from barely noticeable to excruciating. Jon would try to distract Tommy by trying to explain the pain. 

“Maybe they’re a Republican,” Jon had joked one night as Tommy laid on a bed in their hotel room, a bag of ice on his chest. It didn’t help much, but Tommy liked to think it did. 

“That’s not even funny,” Tommy groaned, covering his face. 

“Well, why else would it be like this?”

“I don’t know. I’ve asked everyone I know with the marks what their experience has been like and no one has had anything like this happen to them,” Tommy grumbled, fighting the urge to scratch his skin. 

“Does it mean they’re dead?”

“No, when your soulmate dies, your words start to fade. They completely fade away right before you pass.”

Jon sucked in a sharp breath. “Poetic.”

They stopped talking for a moment, sitting on opposite beds in the low light from the bedside lamps. After a moment, Jon turned over and propped his head up on his hand. 

“Is it true that you can feel their emotions? I’ve never met a bonded pair,” Jon asked. When Tommy looked over at him, he could tell that Jon was winding down for the night. 

“My understanding is it’s a little different for everyone,” Tommy shifted, holding the ice to his chest but turning to face Jon. “My grandparents explained it like a sixth sense - there’s your emotion, and there’s theirs. Mom said she swore they could communicate telepathically, but they never told her. Just that their emotions are linked.”

“You’re the only person I know with a mark,” Jon said sleepily, eyes starting to drift. Tommy nodded. 

“It’s… well, you know. Kinda rare.”

“Poetic.” Jon yawned as Tommy chuckled. 

“Don’t fall asleep in your work shirt.”

“Fuck off,” Jon snapped, rolling over and away from Tommy. 

\--- 

Tommy finds Jon after wandering the hallways for at least an hour, trying and failing to ignore the burning of his chest. When he gives up and heads back to his desk to pack up for the day, he finds Jon sitting at it, bouncing Tommy’s stress ball between his hands. 

“There you are,” Tommy says, leaning against his desk. Jon tosses the ball into the air one last time before putting it back in it’s spot on Tommy’s desk. “Is the new guy okay? Lovett, right?”

Jon purses his lips, his hands flexing on his knees. Tommy narrows his eyes at him. 

“He’s fine, just a long first day. You know what that first day at the White House is like.”

Tommy stares at Jon, head tilted slightly as Jon sits back in the chair, trying to look at ease. Tommy’s known Jon long enough to know when he’s lying, but Tommy’s tired. He sighs. 

“Well, I hope it wasn’t something I did. I know my reputation from Iowa can’t be that terrible,” Tommy jokes, getting a solid laugh out of Jon. 

“You’re fine, I’m sure. Hey, Cody said you needed to talk to me about something? Said you were touching your chest again,” Jon says knowingly, nodding his head at Tommy’s hand resting against his sternum. 

“Oh, the pain’s just back. Here I thought the only thing keeping me up at night would be this job.”

Jon laughs as he stands up, clapping Tommy on the shoulder. “Do you still have some of those creams from the doctor? Maybe they’ll help tonight. And take a melatonin, for once.”

Tommy rolls his eyes as he grabs his stuff. “Yes, mom.”

\--- 

When Tommy wakes up the next morning, he doesn’t move for a moment. His chest doesn’t hurt anymore, even when he shifts around in the sheets. Looking down, the words are now red and look terrible on his chest, but the pain’s gone. 

“Thank god,” he mumbles to himself as he gets out of bed. 

The pain continues to stay away as he heads into work, following the crowd of White House workers as they head through security and off to their stations. He keeps his head down and makes his way to Jon’s office, ready to confess that he took Jon’s advice and it worked. 

As he nears the speechwriters office door, through the crowd, Tommy sees a curly mop of hair slip out the door and head in the opposite direction. For a fleeting moment, Tommy swears he recognizes the person. 

“Tommy!” Jon greets when Tommy walks in, hands holding the strap of his messenger bag off the words on his chest. 

“Morning,” he says, nodding at the rest of the team. He heads over to Jon’s desk, grabbing the spare chair he’s seen Obama sit in plenty of times and plopping down. 

“You look better this morning,” Jon says quietly, his eyes lit up in genuine happiness. “You took a melatonin, huh? I’m glad.”

“I did, thank you for mothering me a little,” Tommy says, sitting back in his seat. “Hey, who was that leaving right before I walked in?”

“Oh, yeah.” Jon shifts in his chair, his eyes shifting down to his desk. “That was Lovett. Didn’t say where he was going.”

Something tugs at the back of Tommy’s brain, a negging thought he can’t reach just yet. He shrugs. 

“I guess I’ll try to meet him later. I have to meet him sometime, right?”

\--- 

Over the next few weeks, Tommy drops by the speechwriting office as often as he normally would. Jon’s always happy to see him. Cody throws things at him. Everyone else ignores him, goes about their business. And despite the presence of paperwork, pens, and empty Diet Coke cans scattered about the new guy's desk, Tommy never seems to run into Lovett. Everyone has something to say about him, some fun story they already have together. Cody and Jon spend an hour one Friday night talking about the bagel place he took them all to one morning. 

Tommy tries to let it roll off his shoulders. He knows that through the campaign, he developed a bit of a reputation, and not the kind Jon developed. People he worked with every single day had no issue telling him he could be stiff and mean. It had never bothered him before. Tommy’s stopped bothering Jon and Cody about it and it’s a dead subject between them. He tells himself he has other things to worry about, like his insomnia coming back, or the amount of emails backed up in his inbox. 

He stays late one Friday night to organize his work emails and projects for the next week, taking a very not subtle hint from Gibbs about his past couple weeks of work. Everyone files out past him one by one, shutting down their computers and work phones for the weekend. Gibbs is the last to go, patting him on the shoulder as he heads out the door, already on the phone with his wife. 

Tommy takes his time deleting and sorting emails, chewing on a pen as he sits back in his desk chair, his lower back sore from the day. He loses track of time eventually and hurries to finish up before 21:00 and his favorite take out place closes. 

As he’s packing up his desk, he notices Cody’s prized stress ball peeking out from behind his computer. He hasn’t any idea how it got there, but he’s been listening to Cody lament losing it for a week. 

Lifting his messenger bag over his head, Tommy grabs the baseball decorated stress ball and heads for the speechwriters office, turning off lights as he goes. The only people left are the night staff, who he usually runs into in the morning. He waves at a few people he knows but moves quickly otherwise, wanting to get home. 

As Tommy nears the office, his chest starts to itch. He stops a few feet from the door in the hallway and looks down his own shirt at the words on his chest, blowing air on them. The itchiness doesn’t go away but is joined by a weird tingling feeling deeper in his chest. Rolling his eyes, Tommy gives his skin a quick scratch through his shirt and decides to ignore it until he gets home. He pushes open the door, expecting an empty room, but stops when he sees there’s one desk light on. 

For a second he thinks he’s fallen asleep at his desk, but then he itches his chest again and everything’s very real. The door didn’t make enough sound to alert the single person in the room of his presence, so Tommy carefully clears his throat. 

“Sorry,” he says as Lovett’s head whips up to look at him. Tommy can’t read his face aside from the shock, so Tommy holds up Cody’s stress ball and walks into the room. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, I’m just returning this.”

“That’s fine,” Lovett says, turning back to his paperwork. Tommy knows the team has been working on a few upcoming international speeches, but he would’ve thought that with Jon gone for the day, everyone else would head home too. 

Picking up a pen, Tommy grabs a post-it note and leaves Cody a little note for Monday morning. He puts the stress ball on his desk chair with the note, laughing to himself. When he turns around, Lovett looks down at his papers quickly. 

“I’m Tommy, by the way,” Tommy says, holding out his hand. Lovett doesn’t look up at him, nor does he offer his hand. His shoulders look rigid and he’s flicking his pen between his fingers. 

“I know,” Lovett says, turning over a page. Tommy lets his hand drop, eyebrows coming together. The itchiness in his chest seems to get worse as he stands there, and the annoyance is reaching its peak. 

“You know, everyone says you’re really cool but all I’m picking up is ‘major asshole’.” 

Lovett doesn’t reply, so Tommy turns on his heel and leaves. 

\--- 

Jon yells at Tommy about it, or he does his own version of yelling. It’s more of a very stern talking to, in a way that makes Tommy feel like shit. But then he thinks about the past three weeks, and how this person’s seemingly judged him without ever meeting him, and he argues back. 

“I don’t know what to do, Favs. He might think I’m an abrasive dickhead but he was so closed off, he wouldn’t even introduce himself. I’m lucky to know his name from you guys!”

Jon sighs heavily, holding his coffee cup up to his face. They’re not even in the building yet. 

“I don’t know,” Jon says quietly. Tommy deflates, feeling guilty. Jon has enough to deal with without Tommy’s bullshit. 

“Look, I’ll find him and apologize and try to talk to him. Hopefully, by this Friday, we’re all out getting drinks.”

Jon seems happy about that, so Tommy takes it as a win. 

\--- 

When lunch rolls around, Jon and Cody are in meetings, so Tommy grabs his food and heads outside. Gibbs is taking a longer personal lunch, so everyone in the office left in a hurry to take advantage of the extra half hour. 

Tommy follows the pathway towards the tennis court, knowing of a single bench in that area he can sit on and eat in relative quiet. The Secret Service men wandering about don’t bat an eye at him as he walks past, knowing who he is and not caring where he’s going. 

He finds the bench among the trees near the tennis court, blessedly empty. Stripping off his suit jacket, he lays it over the back of the bench and sits down heavily, sighing deeply. He found this bench on a stress walk, one he probably was too new to take at the time. The Secret Service had walked past him multiple times as he sat on that bench and did some deep breathing. The trees keep the area mildly cool, and there’s a lovely breeze that nips through Tommy’s shirt. He hastily rolls up the sleeves and undoes a couple top buttons, getting comfortable before opening his lunch bag and digging in. 

He’s halfway through his sandwich when he hears someone rustling nearby. He knows it’s not Secret Service, as they seem to float by without a single sound. And they don’t circle him as he eats anymore, so he looks up from his phone and surveys the area. 

Lovett comes into view from behind a tree, head down and on his phone as he walks. He has his jacket off and slung over his arm, a book tucked against his side, and a brown paper bag. When he’s no less than 10 feet away, Tommy’s chest starts to itch. 

“Oh,” Lovett says when he looks up, his face unreadable. There’s a thrum of annoyance that goes through Tommy at that, but he swallows it down. 

“Sorry, seats taken I guess,” he says, looking back down at his phone. He hadn’t expected to run into Lovett for a couple days, maybe another week. He wanted more time to work on what he was going to say, how to even strike a conversation. Placing the empty sandwich wrapper in his bag, Tommy touches his hand to his chest and itches idly. 

“Can I sit anyway?”

Tommy’s head whips up to see that Lovett’s still there, not looking at Tommy exactly but at the bench. For the first time, Tommy takes in what he looks like. His hair is curlier than Tommy first thought, a mess on top of his head. It’s obviously a victim to the DC humidity. He’s shorter than Tommy thought too. He shifts on his feet and Tommy blinks, looking back at Lovett’s face. 

“I suppose,” Tommy says, grabbing his jacket and laying it over his lap. Lovett sits next to him, leaving plenty of room between them. He places his book on the bench and pulls his food out of his bag, 

Lovett doesn’t say anything as he opens his book and props it up on his leg. He brings his knee up to his chest and rests his chin on it as he reads, one hand keeping it open and the other holding his sandwich. Tommy finishes his chips slowly, his phone forgotten in his hand. Instead, he stares out across the tennis courts and lets the breeze wash over him. 

“You already know this,” Lovett says after what feels like an hour, but according to Tommy’s phone is only a few minutes, “but I’m Lovett. Jon Lovett. No one calls me Jon though.”

“With or without the ‘h’?” Tommy asks, eyes still staring off into the distance. He hears Lovett laugh under his breath. 

“Without.”

“Fascinating,” Tommy says, turning to look at his lunch companion. Lovett isn’t holding his hand out, but he is looking at Tommy’s face. His eyes move around before settling on staring at a point to Tommy’s left. Tommy nods and looks back towards the courts. 

\--- 

Jon rolls up to their favorite coffee shop the next morning with a yawn and bleary eyes. When he sees Tommy standing there, already holding two cups of coffee, he raises an eyebrow. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, taking the coffee with a smile and bringing it to his lips. He probably burns his mouth, but his face remains tired. 

“No, actually,” Tommy says, letting Jon lead them out of the building. “I slept fantastically. I fell asleep early and woke up feeling refreshed.”

“Wow.”

“I know.” Tommy stops with Jon as they wait to cross the street, both of them sipping their coffees. “I ran into Lovett yesterday.”

“Oh?” Jon asks, eyebrows raised. His eyes are starting to look alert as he drinks. 

“You know that bench area I like to go have panic attacks in?” Jon laughs as he nods. “Well, he showed up there, looking like he was coming to eat lunch.”

“Did you guys eat lunch together?” Jon asks incredulously, walking as Tommy leads them across the street. 

“Part of it. We only said like ten words to each other,” Tommy replies, shrugging. Jon claps him on the shoulder. 

“That’s great!”

“I still don’t think he likes me,” Tommy mumbles. Jon laughs, shaking his head. 

“It’s politics, Tommy. Not everyone has to like you.”

\--- 

Lovett avoids Tommy for the rest of the week, and not subtly. Tommy sees him sneaking away when Tommy comes to talk to Jon. He turns down Jon’s invite to come out for drinks on Friday. Tommy doesn’t go eat lunch at the bench again, but if he took a guess, Lovett didn’t either. 

His one night of rest must have been a fluke, because Tommy sleeps like shit the rest of the week. The itchiness is back in his chest too, so he stays up all night with cold packs on his skin to keep himself from breaking skin. 

On Saturday, Tommy turns down an invite to go day drinking to instead stay inside and call an old family friend. Having a soulmark is rare, so when his mother told him about a family friend with one, he’d asked for his number. He’s sometimes been the only person who knew the answer to Tommy’s questions. 

“What kind of trouble are you in now?” Paul says when he answers the phone, chuckling at his own joke. Tommy laughs, settling into the couch. 

“If I was in trouble, you’d probably know about it,” Tommy jokes, earning a loud laugh from Paul. 

“Now that’s probably true,” Paul concedes, humming. “Then what’s on your mind?”

“I wanted to know if your soulmark was ever exceptionally itchy?”

“Exceptionally?”

“Well,” Tommy sighs, “It hasn’t burned like it did in the beginning for awhile, but now it’s just itchy almost all of the time.”

“Are they still a red color?”

“They were black until recently when they turned red again.”

Paul hums on the other end, and then it sounds like he’s covered the speaker. After a few moments of silence, Paul clears his throat. 

“Itchiness, usually, for us meant we had spent too much time apart. It’s the marks way of saying “Hey, please go be around your soulmate.,” Paul explains slowly, like he’s piecing the information together as he goes. 

“I don’t know who my soulmate is though,” Tommy says quietly, careful of who hears him. 

“But your body does. The mark knows. Pay attention to it. Watch for patterns.” Paul clears his throat, letting out a deep breath. “When you start paying attention, you’ll know.”

\--- 

Tommy spends all weekend thinking about what Paul said. It’s been over a year since the words appeared on Tommys chest one weekend in Iowa, and he’s nowhere near closer to figuring out who it is than he’s ever been. It’s not like he hasn’t tried. But soulmarks are so rare to begin with, and people who have them are very private and secretive about it. Tommy understands it. He almost didn’t tell Jon. He barely told his mom, and her parents had soulmarks. 

By Monday, Tommy’s given himself a headache thinking about it. He stops himself from getting out a pad of paper and a pen and mapping out possibilities based on who was in Iowa with him at the time. Instead, he calls his mom and listens to her talk for an hour. 

At lunch that day, Jon sits down with a heavy sigh and pulls out his food slowly, a crease between his eyebrows. Tommy’s still nursing a headache so he quickly takes a bite of food before pulling some ibuprofen out of his bag and taking two. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Jon asks softly, pouring dressing over his salad. Tommy grunts. 

“I’ve had a headache since last night,” he replies, spearing a carrot with his fork. Jon hums, touching his hand to his mouth. 

“I had to send Lovett home, he had such a headache he was snappier than usual,” Jon says. 

“So he treated you like he treats me?”

“Tommy…,” Jon warns, leaning in slightly. “I thought you guys had talked.”

“He introduced himself. We sat in silence and ate lunch. I left without saying anything,” Tommy explains, spearing another carrot and bringing his fork to his mouth. 

“It’s funny,” Jon says, sitting back in his chair. “I think you two would get along great if you didn’t hate each other.”

Tommy reaches up and scratches at his chest, huffing. “Yeah.”

\--- 

It feels like the world is falling apart on Thursday, so Tommy sneaks out for lunch a little early. He hasn’t felt this anxious and wound tight in awhile, so he grabs his food and heads for the bench next to the tennis courts. He takes off his tie and shoves it in his pocket, undoing some buttons. He feels better when there isn’t a button against his throat, but he’s still feeling anxious as he sits down on the bench. 

Between a lack of sleep, the constant itchiness of his chest, and the nature of the job, Tommy feels like he’s about to tear apart. Carefully, he bends forward and puts his head between his knees, breathing slowly. He counts his breaths and wiggles his toes until he’s feeling more like himself. When he sits up again, he wipes at the wetness on his face and slouches against the bench. 

He’s reaching for his lunch bag when he hears someone approaching, and he’s not surprised to look up and see Lovett coming through the trees, book under his arm and lunch bag in hand. When Lovett sees him, he looks unsurprised as well. 

Tommy makes room and Lovett sits down, placing his book beside him. He doesn’t say anything as Tommy chews on his protein bar, eyes staring straight ahead. Tommy knows he’s probably paler than usual, with redness around his eyes. He saw himself in the mirror earlier and flinched. 

“The one day I come out here,” Lovett says softly after a minute or two, opening his lunch bag. Tommy wrinkles his nose. 

“You don’t have to sit here,” Tommy mumbles, closing his eyes at the breeze. Lovett doesn’t reply, but Tommy can hear him chewing on what sounds like chips. 

“It’s the principle. I can’t let you win.”

Tommy snorts. He reaches up, almost on instinct, to itch at his chest but as his hands touches the fabric of his shirt, he realizes his chest isn’t itchy. For the first time in over a week, Tommy drops his hand back into his lap without itching his skin. 

“You know, Jon says we’d get along great if we didn’t hate each other,” Tommy says after a moment of thinking. Lovett grunts, shifting to bring his knee up to his chest again. 

“Hate’s a strong word.”

“Is it?”

Lovett looks at Tommy, actually looks at him for a split second before he looks off into the distance past Tommy’s head. In that split second, Tommy saw something flash in Lovett’s eyes. Something vulnerable. Tommy felt it in his chest. 

“I’m sorry for calling you an asshole,” Tommy says as he puts his garbage into his lunch bag. Lovett watches him pack up his stuff and put his suit jacket over his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, so Tommy leaves. 

\--- 

Jon’s already outside the coffee shop when Tommy runs up, out of breath and missing his tie. Jon’s eyebrows shoot up on his face at Tommy’s appearance, but he hands off his coffee the same and offers him a smile. 

“I was just about to call you and ask you where you were,” Jon says as they start to walk, Tommy handing his coffee back off to Jon to slip his tie around his neck. 

“I’ve figured it out,” Tommy says, eyes wide when he looks at Jon. His hands are working on tying the knot and his eyes are glued on Jon’s face. He looks a little crazed. Jon nods slowly. 

“Figured… what out?” he asks as Tommy folds his shirt collar down over his tie. He adjusts it into the right position and smiles to himself before taking back his coffee. 

“Well, I think I’ve figured it out.”

“What is it?” Jon asks impatiently, moving when Tommy does. 

“I’ll tell you when I’ve confirmed it, I promise,” Tommy says, taking a sip of his coffee. Jon groans. 

“I hate waiting,” he mumbles. Tommy nods. 

“I know, dude.”

\--- 

This time, when Lovett comes through the trees and spots Tommy on the bench, Tommy is expecting it. He has a theory running, and with Lovett’s arrival, he’s already ahead. 

Lovett stares at Tommy for a moment, his head tilted slightly as he seems to take everything in. He opens his mouth once but then snaps it shut before walking over and sitting down. He isn’t holding a lunch bag or a book. When he sits down, he lands heavily, doesn’t bring his knee up to his chest. He sighs heavily, and that’s when Tommy’s absolutely sure. 

“So, when were you in Iowa?” Tommy asks, looking over when Lovett does, catching that flash in his eyes again. He purses his lips, his hands clenched together tightly in his lap. Tommy can see the tension in Lovett’s body, the urge to run away from this. 

“The week of the caucus,” Lovett says after a moment, looking away from Tommy. He seems to relax slightly but his hands stay clasped in his lap. Tommy watches the flicker of Lovett’s jaw as he seems to work through what he wants to say next. Tommy is choosing his own words carefully, and based on the amount of times Lovett opens and closes his mouth, so is he. “Because of the timing, I knew it was an Obama staffer.”

Tommy nods slowly. “When did you figure it out?”

Lovett looks at him, teeth sunk into his bottom lip. He sucks in a deep breath through his nose before opening his mouth. He shrugs. “When it wasn’t Favs, I figured it was the other tall Obama staffer that I’d run into that day at the deli.”

“You thought it was Favs?” Tommy almost laughs. Lovett rolls his eyes. 

“Everyone knew who Favs was. I vaguely recognized him. I had no idea who you were.”

Tommy sits back against the bench, watching the branches on the trees nearby move. Lovett fidgets in his seat until he finally seems to give up and bring his knees up to his chest, feet flat on the bench. 

“Did your chest burn and turn red too?” Tommy asks. Lovett grimaces, looking at Tommy apologetically. 

“That… was my fault. I didn’t realize… I’ve never met anyone with a soulmark. I don’t know a lot about how it works. I didn’t realize that would happen.”

“What was it, the manifestation of your hatred for me?”

“Yeah,” Lovett says simply, shrugging. “Don’t tell me if you had figured out it was me, you wouldn’t’ve been upset.”

“I wouldn’t have hated you enough to hurt you.”

Lovett’s mouth opens on a gasp but he doesn’t say anything, struck speechless. Tommy sighs, shrugging and throwing his arms up slightly. Lovett leans away from him a bit, his face clouding over. He turns towards the tennis court. 

“I definitely wouldn’t’ve completely ignored you and written you off, at least not without giving you a chance to piss me off first. Or put my new boss in a situation that makes him uncomfortable just because I… what?” Tommy laughs, shaking his head. “I don’t even know why you seemingly hate me.”

Lovett’s jaw flickers but he doesn’t say anything. Tommy rolls his eyes. 

“You know what, I take it back. Hating someone you don’t know for no fucking reason, enough to cause them harm that you’re  _ aware _ of - that’s asshole behavior. Especially if you have nothing to say about it.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Lovett snaps, turning his head to look at Tommy. He sets his feet on the ground, turning slightly on the bench. “I didn’t know you were also in pain from the words, so don’t give me that.”

“You’re telling me that if you knew I was also in pain, you would’ve reigned yourself in? Stopped being mad about this situation?”

Lovett’s nostrils flare just enough for Tommy to catch before he opens his mouth to speak again. “No, I’d still be mad at this situation. The first rule of being gay is to not fall for a straight guy, even if they’re tall and handsome. And the universe just loves fucking with me, because now I’m literally attached to one no matter what. I’m stuck with you forever! Hope you’re happy to be stuck with a gay Jew, because this is your life now!”

Lovett stands suddenly, wiping off his hands on his pants. He turns back towards the White House but then stops and turns on his heel to face Tommy again. 

“I know it’s a hilarious laugh, but let me know if this is going to be something you spread around, so I know when to quit.”

\--- 

Tommy’s sitting on his couch when Jon comes knocking, pounding until Tommy gets himself up and answers the door. He’s still in his work clothes even though it’s nearly midnight and he knows that Jon called his phone so many times it’s dead on his bedside table. 

“Dude, what the fuck?” Jon says, taking Tommy by the shoulders and pushing him inside. Jon locks the door behind them as Tommy wanders over to the couch again, sitting down and sinking into the cushions. 

“I need an explanation,” Jon insists as he sits, nudging Tommy’s shoulder. “All I know is you left work early and Lovett was in such a bad mood he snapped at Cody twice.”

“I’ll send Cody a card,” Tommy mumbles, earning him a pinch on the thigh. “Hey, ow!”

“I’m trying to be nice, Tommy, but what’s going on? I’m starting to get annoyed.” Jon shifts on the couch, throwing his arm over the back and staring Tommy down. 

“I think Lovett thinks I’m homophobic,” Tommy starts, not reacting when Jon chokes on his own tongue and starts coughing. “At least that’s the vibe I got when we blew up at each other earlier. Oh, did you know we’re soulmates?”

“WHAT?” Jon gasps, entire face screwed up in confusion as Tommy nods. 

“Yeah, apparently we quite literally ran into each other at that little deli in Iowa and he thought for awhile that maybe you were his soulmate because he had no idea who I was but everyone knows who you are. And apparently he was so mad at the universe for making a straight man his soulmate that the words on both of our chests burned and turned red. And he definitely still hates me.”

“Wait, hold on, slow down. First off, you and Lovett? You’re soulmates?”

“As clear as the words on my chest, yes,” Tommy answers, still staring straight ahead. Everything feels unreal at the moment.

“And he thinks you’re homophobic…. Why?”

“I’m unsure.”

“He also thinks you’re straight.”

“Yeah,” Tommy nods, turning his head slightly to look at Jon. His face is a murky mess of emotions. He frowns. 

“You didn’t correct him?”

“Well, he was busy yelling at me…”

“Oh, for fucks sake Tommy! You know, I’m starting to believe you two are perfect for each other.” Jon gets up off the couch and heads for the kitchen. When he comes back, he’s holding two beers. 

“You’re lucky tomorrow is Saturday,” Jon says as he hands Tommy a beer. 

“No I’m not. My chest is the most itchy it’s ever been and my chest physically aches. Paul told me my body would know and I think it’s trying to tell me a lot right now,” Tommy says as he takes a sip of his beer. There’s a subtle tugging sensation in his stomach, an instinct to follow that he’s been ignoring for hours. 

Jon doesn’t say anything after that, just sips his beer and occasionally shakes his head. Tommy understands. It’s a lot to take in on a Friday night, especially for Jon. Tommy finishes his beer first, nearly five minutes later, so he gets up and heads for the kitchen for another. 

“What are you going to do?” Jon asks as Tommy puts his empty bottle in the recycling and opens the fridge. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Jon comes through the kitchen door and puts his empty bottle in the recycling as well, leaning against the counter. “Are you going to tell him? You probably need to tell him.”

“I’ll give him some time to cool off.”

As Tommy stares into the fridge, the tugging in his stomach starts to feel like a roll, and for a second, Tommy thinks he’s about to throw up. He steps back from the fridge, holding up his hands. As he turns to place his hands on the table, there’s a sound from the front door. 

“What’s that?” Jon asks, but Tommy’s already moving towards the door, knowing exactly who’s on the other side. 

Lovett stands on the other side, facing the door across the hall. When Tommy opens the door, Lovett turns on his heel and points at him. Tommy holds up his thumb to his own chest. 

“What the hell?” Jon says from behind him. Tommy steps aside and lets Lovett in. “How did you get here?”

“Would you believe me if I said I followed my stomach?” Lovett asks. Jon stares blankly at him as Tommy nods slowly. 

“You know what,” Jon holds up his hands, “I’m gonna go. But I  _ demand _ to have this explained to me before work on Monday.”

“Sure thing, Favs,” Lovett says as Jon walks for the door. He holds Tommy’s gaze for a second before pulling the door closed behind him. 

Tommy locks the door before turning around to look at Lovett. He’s standing awkwardly in the doorway of the kitchen, hands deep in his sweatpants pockets. His shoulders are up to his ears. 

“Did you really follow your stomach?” Tommy asks, at a loss for anything else to say. Lovett looks at him for a moment, his shoulders dropping down. He nods but doesn’t say anything. Tommy nods at him, gesturing towards the living room. Lovett waits for Tommy to walk by before following him. He sits on the arm of the armchair. Tommy sinks into the couch again. 

Lovett’s fidgeting again, a trait Tommy’s starting to think is very much Lovett. He eventually slides down into the armchair, hands clasped in his lap. 

“I was trying to sleep,” Lovett says, shrugging his shoulders. “I was trying to sleep… but this part of my brain kept nagging at me, nagging at me about… something. I feel like I’ve forgotten a word and it’s on the tip of my tongue.”

Tommy doesn’t say anything, simply nods. Lovett looks shaken up, like he’s just seen something horrifying. For a brief moment, Tommy sees that flash of vulnerability. Lovett schools his face, taking a deep breath. 

“And then I just got this urge to… go. No one will steal my scooter, right?”

Tommy shakes his head. “Probably not.”

“Anyway,” Lovett sighs, looking around. “I couldn’t sleep. And now I’m here. So… whatever.”

Tommy watches as Lovett reaches up and pushes the palms of his hands into his eyes, sighing. There’s a lump growing in Tommy’s throat, one he’s starting to understand isn’t his own. But he doesn’t know Lovett like that, doesn’t know Lovett at all really. But the very last thing he wants to see is Lovett crying, especially after the day they’ve had. 

“I know I’ve said this before,” Tommy says softly, leaning forward. “But I am sorry for calling you an asshole.”

“You know, calling me an asshole is fair,” Lovett says from behind his hands, letting out a hollow laugh. “It’s almost a term of endearment.”

“I promise you, I won’t be calling you ‘asshole’ as a term of endearment.”

Lovett drops his hands from his face, and Tommy has to physically keep himself from flinching at the wetness on Lovett’s eyelashes. 

“Don’t fucking mock me,” Lovett snaps, his hackles going up again. His shoulders reach his ears before Tommy can speak again. 

“I’m not,” Tommy says sincerely, holding up his palms to Lovett. “I promise you, right now, I’m not being mean or mocking you.”

Lovett regards him for a moment, and his shoulders slowly relax back against the armchair. He looks smaller than normal, sank deep into the cushions. His mouth is set in a line, the ends quivering a bit. 

“I wish you had at least known my name before,” Tommy waves his hands between them, and Lovett takes a deep breath. “Because… really, all of this could’ve been avoided. No burning skin, no itchiness, no hating each other.”

Lovett keeps staring at him, his face now blank. The lump in Tommy’s throat is almost gone now, as is the wetness in Lovett’s eyes. 

“You told me you were angry because, as a laugh, the universe made your soulmate a straight guy… except,” Tommy takes in a deep breath, his stomach shaking a little. “I’m definitely not.”

Lovett stares at him for a beat before sitting up in the chair. “You’re gay?”

“Uh, bi,” Tommy says, shrugging. Lovett’s face is going through an array of emotions, and Tommy can feel the elation in his own stomach. 

“God, I’m such an asshole,” Lovett mumbles, rubbing his eyes again. Tommy chuckles, sitting back on the couch. When Lovett looks at him again, there’s a hint of happiness in his eyes. 

“Can you come over here, please? I feel like I’m going to explode, and not in the fun way,” Tommy says, earning a laugh from Lovett. He sits forward, putting his elbows on his knees. 

“Before I do, because it needs to be said,” Lovett shifts, reaching out with one hand. Tommy bends forward and lets Lovett take his hand. “I’m sorry for putting us both through that burning pain. I… I’ve spent a lifetime being defensive and protective of myself that I didn’t… I didn’t stop to think that maybe everything would be alright.”

Lovett squeezes his hand, and Tommy's mind is so focused on the feeling of Lovett’s hand in his own, the warmth and energy flowing through his arm, that he almost forgets to respond. 

“I understand, Lovett. For the record, I think I’ll be fine ‘stuck with a gay Jew’ for the rest of my life,” Tommy says, squeezing Lovett’s hand in return. Lovett laughs, using his grip on Tommy’s hand to pull himself up and cross the room to the couch. He sits down next to Tommy, close enough to touch, and they sigh at the same time. 

“Wow,” Lovett whispers to himself, scooting closer to Tommy. 

“Oh, I should probably share some of what I know about soulmates with you,” Tommy says, lifting his arm up and putting it on the back of the couch. Lovett eyes him for a second before moving up against Tommy’s side, both of them instantly relaxing. 

“You’re going to have to either hurry or do it in the morning, because I haven’t been this relaxed and sleepy in over a year,” Lovett mumbles, eyes already drooping. Tommy smiles, and before either of them know it, they’re following each other into sleep. 

\--- 

_ Two Months Later _

Tommy knows when Lovett wakes up, even though he’s across the hallway in the shower. It’s not so much a feeling or a shared consciousness but a sense of knowing. Tommy’s already been up for an hour, as is their usual routine on the weekends. 

It took them a couple weeks to get used to the knowing and sharing of emotions. That first night, falling asleep against each other on the couch, was a massive reset for each of them. Tommy learned that Lovett had also been dealing with bouts of insomnia, during the same periods Tommy had it. The words on their chest went back to a basic black and stopped itching, though when Lovett went home to visit his mother for a weeknd, the itching came back. 

Over the span of a month, they spent all the time together they could, staying up late talking about whatever came to mind. Even though Lovett was guarded and liked being difficult to rile Tommy up, and Tommy always took the bait, they found out that Jon had been right all along. 

They got along great. 

Tommy’s much better at masking his emotions than Lovett is, which is how Tommy knows Lovett’s trying to sneak into the shower and scare him. Tommy says it’s because Lovett’s emotions are much more intense than his, worn on his sleeve. Lovett’s told him, repeatedly, to shut up. 

“Just get in the shower,” Tommy calls as he can audibly hear the door click shut. He hears Lovett curse under his breath and then the curtain pulls back and Lovett pops his head in. 

“I  _ will _ get good like you.”

“It takes practice, sweetheart.”

Lovett steps into the shower, blessedly naked and still looking slightly sleepy. He crowds into Tommy’s space, his cheek against Tommy’s chest. The bathroom is steamy and warm, just how Lovett likes it. Tommy keeps the water at his own back and lets Lovett rub his face against Tommy’s wet chest. 

“If you tell me that to master this, I have to start getting up as early as you, you’re just going to have to accept that I’ll never be able to surprise you again,” Lovett mumbles, kissing Tommy’s chest. Tommy laughs, leaning back enough that the shower spray gets into Lovett’s curls. “Hey!”

“It has nothing to do with waking up early, that would be cruel,” Tommy says, stepping back from Lovett and letting him monopolize the warm water for a bit. As soon as he looks properly soaked, Tommy steps back under the spray and pulls him close again. 

“I was using that,” Lovett says, looking up at Tommy. There’s water clinging to his eyelashes and his curls are plastered to his head. Tommy can see it, the moment Lovett picks up what Tommy’s feeling. 

“Those are some very strong emotions,” Lovett says, just loud enough to be heard over the spray. If they were sitting on the couch or curled up in bed, he would’ve whispered. Tommy bends down and kisses him gently. 

“I have very strong emotions about you,” Tommy says as he turns Lovett in the shower, pressing him against the wall. Lovett goes easily, knowing exactly what Tommy wants. 

“Hmm,” Lovett hums, tilting his head back as Tommy attaches his mouth to Lovett’s shoulder, following droplets of water up his neck. His hand sneaks down between them and grips Lovett’s dick, already hard and wet. Tommy wraps his other arm around Lovett’s back, tilting him towards Tommy’s body, as he strokes Lovett lazily. 

“Do we have any plans for today?” Tommy asks, mouth against Lovett’s ear. Lovett shakes his head, whining softly as Tommy squeezes. 

“N-no,” Lovett manages to say, shuddering in Tommy’s embrace. His mouth opens as his orgasm builds, noises coming out of him he can’t control. Tommy takes them all in, letting them urge him on as he continues to pull Lovett off. “Tommy…. I’m gonna - oh!”

With a gasp and a whine, Lovett spills into Tommy’s hand, his body going limp almost immediately. Tommy keeps his hold on him, kissing along Lovett’s shoulders and up to his face. When Tommy starts peppering kisses along his nose, Lovett shakes him off with a laugh. 

“Alright, okay, wow,” Lovett says, looking up at Tommy through his lashes. “Why do you want to know if we have plans?”

“Because if we don’t, I propose we spend all day in bed.”

“Really leaning into those strong emotions, huh?” Lovett teases, pushing his way under the shower stream. Tommy wiggles his eyebrows, keeping his hands on Lovett’s hips. 

“Come on, you know you want to,” Tommy says, grinning as Lovett rolls his eyes. 

“Stop that,” Lovett says, poking Tommy’s chest. He laughs. “If you know that, tell me what else I want?”

Tommy watches as Lovett works shampoo into his hair, his hands disappearing in soap and curls. Tommy reaches up as Lovett steps back under the spray and pushes Lovett’s hands aside, working the shampoo out gently. 

“I… I don’t know. You’re getting better.”

“Thanks, babe,” Lovett says, grinning. “Wash up good, because I wanna spend some time down here.”

Tommy’s cheeks darken as Lovett grabs his ass, still grinning. “Oh?”

“Yeah. You’re gonna watch where I’m going,” Lovett says, putting a finger on the words on Tommy’s chest. Tommy shakes his head at that. 

“Rework that one, come back to me,” Tommy says. “You’ll do better in the polls.”

“Oh, good one!” Lovett says, reaching back to shut off the water. “Now, let’s go so we can get back in bed.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Tommy laughs, kissing Lovett again before pulling back the shower curtain. 

\--- 

_ January 2008, Somewhere In Iowa _

“A lot of Clinton staffers come here for lunch, so most people avoid it, but it has the best bread,” Tommy says, leaning in to whisper to Jon as they stand and wait for their sandwiches. Jon looks around the deli, as unsubtle as could be, and grunts softly. 

“How do you go anywhere in Iowa without running into a Clinton staffer?” Jon asks, laughing softly. Tommy shrugs, pushing himself off the store wall when their numbers are called. 

“You learn to keep your head down,” Tommy says, handing Jon his bag. They turn to head out of the deli, the door opening as a large group of people walk inside. Jon tugs on Tommy’s shirt, making him slow down to let the group walk in. As the area thins, Tommy moves forward again, looking over his shoulder to check that Jon’s following him. 

As he walks out the door, someone bumps into his side. There’s a group of about four people to his right, and when he turns to apologize, someone speaks up. 

“Watch where you’re going,” a man says, somewhere inside the group of definitely Clinton staffers. Tommy snorts. 

“Watch the polls,” he replies, stumbling a bit as Jon pulls on his arm. 

“You’re not going to get into a fight outside a deli in Iowa, not today,” Jon says hurriedly, and Tommy laughs as they walk to Tommy’s car. 

**Author's Note:**

> big thank you to everyone involved in the crooked exchange this year, especially those running it! 
> 
> \- anonymous (for now)


End file.
